Petulance
by DriftingSpirit
Summary: “What does it matter? We’re enemies, remember?” I shout in his face. He raises his eyebrows. “Really? Still?” draco/harry
1. Chapter 1

It's dark. Seven-ish. Everyone's off, feeding in the Great Hall. Not me. Not him. He wanders the corridors, lurking, searching. He knows I'm following him. Why wouldn't he? I've been following him since the first day of term. I've been thinking about it since my first breath.

His steps are deliberate, his path not quite as certain. He leads me down the third floor to the stairs, two at a time up to the fourth. I'm not even pretending he's not my destination. I keep only a four or five meter distance between us. If he stopped too abruptly, I'd probably crash straight into him.

We climb staircase after staircase, that one final destiny leading us forward to fall forever. The Room of Requirements. I even pace with him. The door shows and he slips in, holding the door for me.

He turns around to finally face me, but I keep moving forward until I have him pinned between my body and the wall. I can feel every bit of him, bones, sinew, muscle, everything. He doesn't kiss me. He'll never kiss me first. Than this abomination would be his fault. This way its mine.

All mine.

I strip him, edging back only slightly from his warmth to remove his clothing with purposeful slips of my fingers. He doesn't fight me, just stares. He's always giving me that look. That one that says I'm his everything and I'm nothing to him. It's why I follow him. His robes drift to the floor, closely followed by his tie and pressed, white, collared shirt.

He's skinny. Pearly white. The most beautifully broken man I've ever touched. His eyes, deepest shade of green, follow my hands down the smooth skin of his abdomen, watch me undo his belt. His ebony hair falls forward, covering the mark that has become the bane of my existence. Lightening.

I unbutton his slacks, drag the zipper down. Pausing, I lift his chin, bringing his gaze back up to me. The green is almost gone, his pupils dilated past their capacity. Uncertainty drifts across his face, like it always does, as if we haven't done this so many times before. His trousers drop to the ground, followed by his briefs.

He smiles. That sick, twisted, turning in him, churning in him, that keeps me following him, but, more importantly, keeps him leading me.

I lean into him, trespassing in the most intimate of ways. I inhale his scent; sense his need for me to rush. But not with him. I could never rush with him. I press my lips into his neck, into his heartbeat, into his world. He takes a shuddering breath, letting his hands glide up my forearms. It's my go. Our mouths connect, our tongues attach, our bodies intertwine. Its filled with need, with greed, with all those dark things people like to believe don't exist. We thrive on them. We always have.

He rids me of my clothing a lot hastier than I was with his, pressing himself more tightly to me with every fresh inch of newly revealed skin. His taste fills my head with heavy, smoky thoughts that I barely comprehend. I fill my hands with every inch of skin within reach.

And then, I'm naked with him. Feeling the curve of his spine under my fingertips, feeling his hands rap around the last part of me he should ever be caught touching. I curl a hand into his hair and pull his mouth as tight against mine as possible. He kisses me back like this was his idea. Like he initiated this. He's always been like this. No one else knows him like I do.

This is our ritual. He is my destiny.

XXX

"Wake-y, wake-y." Chirps a female voice above me.

I groan at it. "Who let you in? This is the _boy's _dormitory."

"Blaise." Pansy answers with a smile in my blinking eyes.

"Fuck him." I mutter, glaring at her and rolling over.

"I did." She tells me cheerfully.

I turn my head back long enough to give her a perturbed look. "Go away, Pansy."

"I am. Blaise sent me to wake you up. It's after eight. If you don't hurry, you'll miss breakfast. Or be late for Herbology. You're choosing."

I hear the door click shut and sigh. Morning comes too fast. I roll back over and watch the rain drip down the windowpanes. No point in working on my appearance when my hair is going to be messed up by the rain anyway. I struggle out of bed, shedding my pajamas right then and there to let the cold air wake me a little more. The dormitory is empty anyway. And even if it wasn't, who cares? I'm a Malfoy. Who the fuck would say anything?

I dress quickly. As much as I despise Herbology, I'm a good student. It's not worth skipping. Okay, that's not why I'm dressing quickly. I rush for his smile.

It's been almost two months since I boarded the scarlet steam engine back to Hogwarts, back to this life. Two months of classes, Quidditch practice, professors, homework, Slytherin, and him. I have to admit, it's nice to get back to the normal flow of school when my summers have turned to hell since the return of the Dark Lord. Father is such a bastard. It's one thing for him to ruin his life. It's another entirely when he's dragging me down with him. If I want to be a dark wizard, why the hell would I want to work for someone else? I don't want to be Voldemort's bitch.

Not that I really have a choice now.

Sorry, Dumbledore.

I grab my books and jog to the Great Hall. It's nearly empty, it being so close to class time. But he's still there. Sitting with the Weasel and Mudblood. As usual. As long as the Weasel's little sister isn't there. She eye-fucks the shit out of him. It would be only so easy to just _avada cadavra. _

It irks me, so sue me.

And then he does it. He glances up, connecting his life to mine, and he grins. A small, secretive something that he only gives me. I don't know what he's trying to say, but I don't really care. Its what I hurried here for.

I grab some toast and tip a fried egg between the slices, spinning on my heels and heading back out the door. I stride through the hallway, downing my breakfast as quickly as possible. The rain, drops the size of eyeballs, falls from the sky in sheets, daring me to pass through. I walk as though it can't touch me.

Over the harsh clumps of dirt and grass combining into a muddy complexion, rocky edges, down to the huddle of my soaked classmates gathered in front of Greenhouse 3. Professor Sprout holds the door wide and we all file in, hands running over messed up hairstyles and fixing throttled robes.

This particular Herbology lesson is less practical and more lecture. We all break out parchment, quills, and ink; blotting down phrases here and there. She pulls out the star of today's focus, big purple fronds and angry, bubbled petals. The bell sounds up at the school after an hour of sitting on a metal stool and watching Longbottom answer every question Sprout throws out there. It's annoying. But I guess everyone needs their moments and his only happen in this class.

The rain hasn't subsided by the time we exit the greenhouse and muddle our way back up to the school. I look terrible, I'm sure. My hair is plastered to my forehead and sticking up in odd directions. My robes are drooping and heavy with damp. And it's all just fucking fantastic since I get to see him next.

Professor Slughorn has got to be the worst Potions Master in the history of Hogwarts. Everything about him bothers me. Probably most of all, his lack of interest in me and his focus in _him_. I'm good at holding back, though. With a childhood like mine, how could I not be?

He sets us up making a potion to combat the majority of viruses. Then he sweeps about, going on and on about the great witches and wizards he taught and met and so on. He drifts over to _him_ towards the end of the class and bumbles about how perfect his potion is. He snaps his small Advanced Potions textbook shut, keeping a protective hand over the cover. There's something suspicious about his attachment to that book.  
Blaise catches up with me after the bell chimes throughout the castle, leading me towards lunch.

"Haven't seen you much today." He starts. "Or last night."

"I guess not." I give.

"I would say you were working on your mission, but you were given strict instructions not to be missing during important times like meals." He smiles in a sickly way. "So what were you doing?"

"Lower your voice." I snap at him, halting us both. "I tell you not to mention this in the Common Room of our own house and you think its okay to mention in a corridor surrounded?"

Uncertainty taints his tightened, dark features, but it passes quickly. "You need to speak with someone about it, Draco. It wears on you. We all see it. If wherever your going is for some sort of stress relief, you need to find a new pastime." He begins walking again, but I don't follow.

"And by the way, you should feel honored to be given such a mission at all after what your father did."

I watch him carry on down to the Great Hall. I have only a moment's reprieve before Pansy pops up next to me.

"What was that?" She questions. "You look like death."

I shake the expression off my face. "Nothing. Blaise is jealous of my calling."

She nods like she knows exactly what I'm saying. She doesn't, though. She couldn't. "He's just trying to be your friend. We all are. You hold people at such a distance."

I glance at her as she takes my arm and moves us towards the Great Hall. "Friends" they like to be called. But in this time, with everything that's going on, no one is my friend. They all just want some of the glory from my mission to climb in ranks. They'll stab me in the back if I fail, though. It doesn't matter all that much. If I fail I'm dead anyway.

"If nothing else, you should speak with Snape." Pansy continues as we cross the threshold to the Great Hall. "He's put his life on you."

"I know what he's done!" I say a little louder than I meant to. Her eyes sink back with hurt and I pat her hand to counteract. "I'm a little on edge, I admit. Nothing I can't handle. I don't want to talk about anything. I don't _need_ to talk about anything. I need you guys to just be my mates and stop bringing up things in public places that need to remain secret."

She nods. "Okay, Draco. If that's what you want."

"It is."

I sit with Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent Bulstrode at lunch. I keep Bulstrode close because she is the scariest girl I've ever met. Its best to hold what you fear close. If it scares you, it likely scares others. Blaise accompanies me back up the stairs after lunch.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, last classroom on the second floor. Snape's waiting for us, looking as if he hasn't slept in many days. Probably hasn't, stressing over me too much. It isn't my fault he made an _Unbreakable Vow_. He can thank my mother and _Auntie _Bella for that. If someone were to ask me, I'd say he's not feeling this whole "Voldemort's Will" thing anymore. That's fine. I can finish alone. How hard can it be?

A twinge goes through my body when he walks in with Weasel and Granger in tow. Both pulling towards him and pushing away. That's how I've always felt about him. He doesn't so much as glance my way. I watch him take his seat and Snape swoop over to hiss at him.

Defense classes have improved tenfold since Snape took over. Due to the fact he actually knows Dark Arts, probably. Anyway, I've enjoyed this year's lessons a multitude more than previous years.

"Sometimes the best defense is to run." Snape begins at the head of the class. "Not often, you cowards, but occasionally."

Snape pairs us off to practice the camouflage spell we were lectured on last week. Blend into any environment, useful. Blaise is my partner. He mumbles the words and his lower half disappears to mesh with the stone wall behind him, his upper half remaining normal.

"Bloody hell." He mutters under his breath. He glances up at me. "Potter watches you a lot lately."

I don't even bother to look over my shoulder. I can feel when his eyes are on me. I hold my eyes to Blaise. "So?"

"He's suspicious."

"So?" I repeat.

"That doesn't bother you?"

I do look behind me now. Our eyes meet and my gut drops a few centimeters. He must be having a similar feeling course through him because he doesn't even shift his weight when Weasley turns the table next to them to water instead of making himself blend in with it. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes I get the feeling he gets lost in me just as much as I do him.

Blaise places his hand on my shoulder and I just barely cover up my urge to jump.

"What was that?" Blaise chuckles in my ear.

I break my stare on him momentarily to eyeball Weasel. "I don't care as long as my shoes don't get wet. They're worth more than his entire house and everything in it."

He finally glances away from me, his astonishment at the scene that greets his eyes rings clear on his face. He bends down to help Weasley dry up the last of the water, his gaze wandering back up to my face. He grins and I smirk back.

I think we just had a moment.

The rest of Defense is rather uneventful. The bell chimes and I pack up, Blaise doing the same next to me. As we leave the classroom, he pushes past me, slipping a note into my hand, closely followed by a fuming Weasley. I pocket the note and pretend that nothing happened, keeping a blank face when Blaise gives me a sideways look.

"Do you have Quidditch practice tonight, Draco?"

I gave a short shake of my head. "Not today. Amazingly enough."

"How about we have a party? A little stress relief that involves your friends?"

There's that word again. Friends. "Maybe."

"Maybe? You have other plans?" He questions.

"Maybe."

He frowns for a second before breaking into a smirk. "Plans with a girl?"

"Maybe." I say again, just because I'm not entirely sure how to respond.

"Okay, well, if you want the party just let me know before eight, that's the best time to make a run down to the kitchen." He says.

I give him a condescending look. "I know that, Blaise."

"I know you do." He covers quickly. "Just reminding you in case." Pansy has clearly gotten to him.

I scramble through my bag and halt in my stroll down the corridor.

Blaise stops in front of me, asking, "Something wrong?"

"Damn." I mutter. "I left my History book in the classroom."

"You want me to wait for you?" He offers, glancing at his watch.

"No, go on ahead. I'll meet you there." He nods and heads off. "Save me a seat!" I call after him. He acknowledges with a wave of his hand.

I pause in the Defense classroom doorway, peering in to make sure Snape had returned to his office. With the coast clear, I whip the note back out of my pocket. It has four words on it. Library. Invisibility section. Now.

I check my watch, mutter a curse, and haul ass up the stairs a couple of times to the Library. Madame Pince gives me a pointed look, like she knows I should be in class at that very moment, but remains silent as I try to walk at a normal pace back to the invisibility section. I turn down the aisle and… he's not there. I spin in circles, feeling extremely silly, but find nothing. Not a trace. It was a trick. He tricked me. I head over to the window, dropping my bag on the floor, looking out as if he might be waiting for me on the roof. Nothing.

Anger is winding its way around my insides when arms curl around my waist and teeth clench down on my ear. I fight a smile and a shiver, trying to turn back around, but he holds me still. His mouth drops to my neck, kissing a path from my ear to the collar of my shirt. He drags that aside and bites down softly there. My eyes squeeze shut and I press my lips together. One hand parts my robes, unbuttoning the bottom buttons of my shirt and slipping inside. His fingers rub slow circles into my belly and then my chest. His other hand goes to work on my trouser, unbuttoning, sliding down my zipper. His fingers wrap around me and I arch back into him. His teeth and tongue continue their work on my shoulder while he jacks me off as quickly as he can.

I can't breathe, I can't think. My hands grip the windowsill, my knuckles turning white. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could catch us. But I can't stop him. I can't say no to him.

I lean hard into the window, he leans with me, his mouth continuing its assault, his hands working my body in ways no one else has ever been able to. He leaves my shoulder as the pressure builds low in my body, his hand leaving my shirt to run through my hair, pulling my face to the side to capture my lips. He kisses me hard and desperate. It's my everything and it means nothing to me. It sets me over the edge. It takes everything I have not to shake as my orgasm rocks through me.

He finally turns me around, shoving my back into the wall and kissing me ever harder, his tongue gliding along mine. I can feel him re-buttoning my shirt, re-zipping my pants. A wave of his wand to clean up stickier things. He finishes straightening my robes, his hands lifting to my face. He strokes my cheeks, finally breaking the kiss with a shove on my chin from his thumb.

He speaks to me, for the first time ever after doing something like this.

"Thank you."

I watch him walk away, feeling dazed. I catch my brain up, check my clothes, grab my bag, and head out of the library at a run, even against the angry shouts of Madame Pince. Down a few flights of stairs, slipping into History of Magic. Luckily, Professor Binns wouldn't notice if a tornado hit, he didn't notice my absence.

"What took you so long?" Pansy hisses in my ear as I take a seat between her and Blaise.

I shrug. "Had to find my book."

Blaise grins at me, fixing my tie. "Book, right."

I whip out my quill, ink and parchment. "So party tonight? I'm in."

"Excellent."

I settle into a daydreaming state as Professor Binns' voice drones on. What did he mean by thank you? Thank you for what? I didn't get him off. And since when do we do anything during the day? In the library, no less. Since when does he kiss me first? I'm not supposed to feel this flustered after a meeting of ours. I'm not supposed to feel anything.

Damn it, Potter. I could kill you right now.

I will get you back for that.


	2. Chapter 2

Parties suck. Too many people gather and try to feel attractive while they make fools of themselves. Too many people force out all of the stupid words that flitter out of their mouths without pausing in their brains. Too many people.

I find some solace in the wide empty spaces just outside the common room. I should join in. It is, after all, a party for me. But I can't. I can't pretend that jumping up and down on the furniture is fun or that I consider them friends. I can't stay. I can't even stay sitting here.

Rising, I stroll through the dungeons at an abnormally fast pace. Like I'm rushing to get away from something. I am. The dungeons are empty for the most part. The heavy helmets of the suits of armor follow my progress and the occasional ghost flashes by in a hurry to get to the upper floors. Painted wizards with heavy eyebrows lean into each other's frames to whisper and point. Paintings are like children, they stare unabashedly.

Up the stairs to the first floor, I try to blend into the shadows. Even though curfew isn't for another hour, teachers are still rather suspicious when catching a student out at this time. My feet lead me up several more flights of stairs, pressing onward to that single space in my head. Madam Pince seems too surprised to see a student entering the Library so close to curfew that she doesn't even say anything to me.

I'm in the invisibility section before I can stop myself. Images flicker past of earlier, when he changed our relationship, if one can call it that. Hardly counts. Why is it affecting me this much? I should be brushing it off. I should be down at my party drinking butterbeer and laughing with my fellow Slytherins. Instead, I wind up here. I wind up with my focus back on him, back on the trip he's putting me through. I really need to come up with some kind of payback. The fact that he has one up on me is driving me crazy.

Suddenly paranoid, I spin on my feet, looking around. There's no one there, of course, but I can't help but feel eyes still piercing the back of my neck. One last glance at the window, and I head back through the Library. Madam Pince gives me one last ridiculed look before I let the door fall shut behind me.

And there he is.

I dash behind a suit of armor to avoid his line of sight. He's with the Weasel. Talking loudly and animatedly.

"It really isn't a big deal. I just-" He pauses in his speech, glancing at the Library, "Hold on, I think I left my Divination book in the library earlier. Meet you in the common room?"

"Sure." Weasley throws a wave and continues on.

And then he's pressing me into the suit of armor, his lips working my neck. "Hiding?" He whispers in my ear. "Let me hide with you."

I shove him back, hoisting myself off the wall and begin to stroll towards a trick tapestry to skip a few flights of stairs. "No."

He follows after me. "You don't want me anymore?"

"Never wanted you in the first place."

"Why'd you follow then?"

"Curiosity."

He chases after me, through the tapestry, finally landing his hand on my shoulder. I'm angry. I can feel it course through my veins like some kind of drug. I hope I don't get that vein-popping-in-forehead thing father does. How unattractive.

I punch him. I couldn't say why. Do I really have to have a reason? My fist connects with his jaw and his head snaps back, losing his balance and dropping to the ground. We stare at each other for one stunned moment before he stretches back to his feet and punches me back. In the eye. That isn't going to look pretty in a few hours. I stumble down a few steps, falling into a crouch. Springing back up, I tackle him. Why beat around the bush?

We fall back onto the platform a few feet behind him. It hurts. I can feel blood vessels popping under my skin and jumping to fill bruises in my back. And then its war. Fists are flying, feet are working, his hips keep twisting into mine to flip me. Pain like I've never felt before erupts all over my body and, by the groan escaping his lips, I'd say he's in the same position. I stop attempting to hurt him and refocus on keeping him from hurting me. I grab at his hands; trying to stop his arms from flailing into already painful places, try to stop him from gaining any control in the situation. He shouldn't have any control. This is my battle. Mine.

"Draco?"

At first I think it's him saying my name, but his lips never moved. I should know. I've been staring at them since we started this tussle. But it's not. It's Blaise. Blaise takes a few steps towards us. Potter is no longer fighting my hold on his wrists, seeming to slip into a surprised silence.

I lick my lips and release him to brush the hair out of my eyes. "Blaise."

He steps closer. "Draco, um, what are you doing?"

I look down. Green eyes flash into mine. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're having a fist fight with Potter."

"Very good, Blaise. Recognition is progress." I mutter sarcastically.

"Its just, why a fist fight? Are you a wizard or not?"

I face him again to avoid looking at Blaise. I strain to keep a blush out of my cheeks. Why the hell did I punch him when I could have cursed him? Idiot.

"Right." Blaise looks more embarrassed than I feel. "Pansy sent me to look for you. I guess I'll see you back in the common room when you're done here?"

I nod. "Guess so."

He turns on his heels and heads out. I look back down at him and he's smiling. And then he's laughing. At me. He's laughing at me. I raise my fist to punch him again, but he holds it, dragging us back towards the wall so he can lean against it. I raise my other fist, ready to do serious damage, but he grabs that one too, leaning his head into my shoulder and continuing to laugh.

"Stop laughing at me!" I scream at him.

He shoves his lips together, but continues to shake. "Can't help it. You're so funny."

I go to climb off his lap, but he pulls me back down. "Let me go." I command him.

"Now, now, let's not part while you're in a tiff." He says, dropping to a chuckle.

"What does it matter? We're enemies, remember?" I shout in his face.

He raises his eyebrows. "Really? Still?"

I give him the psycho look. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Because for the last couple of months we've been so much more than that." He brushes hair out of my face. "Last time I checked, we were lovers." His voice goes raspy as he whispers 'lovers' in my ear. It sends all the wrong feelings to all the wrong places and I hate him for it.

"We're not lovers."

"Aren't we?" He kisses me then, holding my hips tightly to his.

A shiver runs down my spine. Fear. I stumble back off his lap and run down the stairs. "Stay away from me!" I call over my shoulder.

I run all the way back to the Slytherin common room. Blaise and Pansy are waiting for me just outside the entrance Leaning against the stone, looking smug. Pansy steps forward when I round the corner.

"Fighting with Potter?" She poses. "Why Draco, how common."

I glare at her. "I don't have time for this. I'm going to bed."

She places a hand on my chest to hold me back, and then drags it down along my face. "You have a black eye coming in."

I blink at her. "Can you make a point? I'm tired."

"We really need to talk, Draco." She purrs in my ear. I stare at Blaise over her shoulder, his head is hung in what looks like shame.

"Then talk."

Her lips press into my cheek. "You're slipping." She tuts at me. "Everyone sees it. The way you disappear lately, the way you end up on top of Potter in a stairwell."

"On top of Potter?" I glance at Blaise again, who now seems to be holding back laughter. "You think I've taken to just sitting in Potter's lap?"

She smiles. "I don't know what you've taken to, Draco. I don't really know you anymore. You never talk to me like you used to. You never open up when it counts." She looks into my eyes. "You shouldn't be handling this mission alone."

I push her away. She stumbles in surprise, grasping the stone behind her to break her fall. I rush past them into the common room.

The party is still going. Some first years are jumping up and down on the couches, singing loudly. Some fifth years are watching them in disgust, like they're so much better. Everyone else is dancing, and drinking, and feigning happiness. I struggle over to a table covered in half empty bottles of firewhiskey and mugs of butterbeer. I lift a half empty bottle of firewhiskey to my lips and pause. No, not worth it.

I let the bottle drop to the ground, spilling firewhiskey all over the floor. Back across the common room, down a long hallway, almost to the end, and into the sixth year dormitory. I tip off my shoes and drop onto my four-poster, pulling the deep green curtains to deter people from bothering me.

It doesn't work. Blaise drifts in and sits on the bed next to mine. I can hear him shift nervously while he decides what to say.

"You should put something on that eye. I'm sure Madame Pomphrey can heal it for you in the morning." He starts.

"Go away, Blaise."

"That might have been the wrong way of going about it, but she's right, you know." I can practically see his hands rubbing together over and over, his only nervous tick.

"Go away, Blaise."

"Let me help you, Draco. You don't have to let me all the way in, just let me do the smaller bits."

I sit up, ripping back the curtains. His eyes are wide as they finally stare into mine. "I don't need help!" I yell at him. "I don't _need_ anything! I need for you to leave me alone so I can sleep! If you were really my friend, you'd stop bloody bugging me!"

I flip back onto my side, yanking the curtains closed again. The bed squeaks as he gets back to his feet.

"Okay, have it your way, Draco. I'll leave you alone. I won't say anything about it again. I'm here if you need me." His shoes scrape the floor as he heads back to the door. "You should rejoin the party. Its not like you'll actually sleep anyway." With that said, he heads back out, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

He's right. I lie there hour after hour, the party finally dying down and my fellow sixth year boys coming in to bed. I part my curtains slightly so I can watch the clock. Midnight, one in the morning, two, three. Before I know it, the clock ticks five, and I can't stand to just sit there.

Grabbing a fresh set of robes and my shoes, I head back out of the dormitory and down the hall to the showers. The water is hot and soothing on my skin. I don't get out until my pale skin is pulsing red. I dress in silence, making sure my tie is straight and my robes are smooth.

Madame Pomphrey isn't in when I reach the hospital wing. I pace the hall, passing the stiff beds and clean white sheets. The fresh flowers and large, picture window. At seven, she appears in the doorway.

"Mr. Malfoy." She gasps in surprise, clutching her chest. "What are you doing here so early?" She steps closer and notices my eye. "Oh, that."

Her cold fingers press into my swollen eye. It hurts, but I don't flinch. Malfoys don't flinch.

"How did this happen?" She questions as she whips out her wand and points it at my face.

I shrug. "Quidditch."

She frowns like she knows I'm lying. "Hold still. This will just take a second. Shouldn't hurt."

I'm out of the hospital wing by seven thirty; my eye still stinging where she had shrank it back down. And she said it wouldn't hurt. I silently slip back through my dormitory, snatching my bag. I meet Madame Pince at the doors to the library, waiting patiently. She seems startled and suspicious. She should be proud to see a student so determined in their studies that they show up at the library first thing in the morning.

I take a table near a window towards the back, but I can't study. I can't pretend my mind can focus on anything right now. I feel so scatterbrained. How did my life get so complicated? Five years ago, I had everything. A rich kid, handsome, and cool as hell. Father gave me everything and taught me what Hogwarts refuses to. And then the fucking Dark Lord had to reappear. Thanks a lot, you prick.

Before I know it, it's almost nine. I hurry down to breakfast and take a seat next to Bulstrode. She grins at me. I'm not sure if it was meant to be friendly or fierce. I can never tell with her. I pile food onto my plate and shovel down some before the first bell sounds through the castle.

My brain catches up with me after lunch, while I'm sitting in Divination. The heavily perfumed room soaks into my skin and, surprisingly, startles my brain away. I stare out the window as my insect of a teacher croaks on about something. Haven't really paid attention enough to know what. Rain has started to fall from the darkening sky. I watch the large drops pull pass the window for the final destiny of ground.

I wonder what its like to hit the ground from such a height at such a speed. If I jumped out of this window, I'd surely die when I hit the ground. This is what, the seventh floor or so? Long ways. Bet it would feel like flying. Without a broom, without a carpet. Just passing through the air, not dense enough to stop me.

I jump when a hand settles on my shoulder. I glance sharply to my left into the smiling face of Pansy.

"What were you thinking about?" She whispers.

"Jumping out the window." I answer honestly in a low voice.

She looks passed me, as if she can see it too. "Freedom." She mutters.

If there's one thing I like about being a Slytherin, it's the ability to voice thoughts of suicide and have it so easily accepted by everyone. Its probably part of the sickness of mind that usually accompanies dark wizards, but I don't care. It's pleasant. I think more of the current Slytherins think about it than past Slytherins considering most of us have the parental pressure to be something we might not want to be. Like me. Crabbe and Goyle. Thank Merlin my aunt never had a child. Imagine a Lestrange kid. I'd kill myself. Open the window, and let gravity do the work, I am done.

The bell sounds, ending the hour and a half of double Divination. I descend the staircase flanked by the usual. Crabbe walks on my right, bumping into me occasionally because the dumb ass can't walk straight. I don't say anything, though. I'd rather have him around, him with a skull full of air, than Blaise with his suggestions.

I lead the troop back to the dungeons. We pass him in the corridor, but I keep my eyes averted. He doesn't. I can feel the emerald burning into my skin. I'm surprised every time I see my naked body and its not completely tattooed with him.

The rest of my afternoon passes in an array of slides in front of my eyes. Dinner comes, and I shake my head to register the situation. Blaise it talking loudly, clearly telling a joke since everyone seems to be laughing, so I start laughing too. This pleases Pansy, she winks at me, petting my hand with her fingers.

I watch Dumbledore up at the Professors' table. He must feel my stare, since he looks my way and nods his head at me. Fear burns through my head. He knows. Oh my fucking god, he knows. I nearly slap myself. He couldn't know. Impossible. How could he know? I rub my left arm. I'm being stupid.

I return my gaze to my food, taking a bite of treacle. I'm being stupid.

Dinner ends anticlimactically. I climb to my feet, feeling unexplainably sleepy, and head out of the Great Hall. My "friends" try to steer me towards the dungeons, but I don't follow. I've spotted him.

I can't seem to help but follow. Its like some kind of force is pulling me up the stairs after him. What is wrong with me? He's not headed for him dormitory. The Gryffindors usually head up to the top of the castle, seventh floor. But he stops on the fourth, turning away from the crowd. He looks around before opening the door to the Arithmency classroom. I follow him in.

He's not waiting for me right at the door, like I thought he would be. He's standing on the other side of the room, staring out the window. Moonlight streams in, making his eyes glow. I pause about five meters away from him, just watching. After several minutes, he turns to look at me.

"Why?" He says.

I shrug. "I have no idea."

He gives me a lopsided grin, than steps towards me. "Are you going to hit me again?"

"Would you enjoy that?"

I kiss him, pressing him into the window frame. His fingers lose themselves in my robes, holding me to him. His tongue tastes like cherry pie. I unbutton his shirt, pushing it and his robes off his shoulders, dropping my hands lower to work on his belt.

Being with him fulfills some sick desire in me that I can barely admit to, even when he's pressed so urgently into me, his lips tasting skin all the way down my neck. I can't deny it, though. I have to follow him; I have to do this to him, no matter how much it makes me hate myself. No matter what it does to him, I could care less. Somehow, I think he does this for the same sick desire. The Golden Boy has the same sick desire as me. I guess we aren't so different.

I slip his underwear off and into my pocket. Kissing my way down his body, I grasp his shoes, and straightened back up. Lingering for one last kiss, one last taste of him, I pull back.

"Payback's a bitch."

I leave him standing there, in the Arithmency classroom, naked and horny. Without his underwear and without his shoes. It's the best I could come up with on short notice.


End file.
